Romany Traveling
by Insignia13
Summary: Enter the crazy world of a gypsy named Rose as she humorously recalls important moments of her life, such as leaving Bulgaria, horses, encounters with wild bears, her first job, French mobsters, fiddle music, and curious soup.
1. Soup and Horses

Gypsy Rose: Part I

Meh tales begin a long time ago in homeland Bulgaria. I was born to a goot Gypsy fam'ly where we had much soup an horses an wonderful times together. Me Mama was the hardest worker of our fam'ly because she would go out from seven-turty in de morning to ten-turty at night. She would, she would play de tweedle deedle and ze oompa oompa on ze fiddle an she would collect money from de reech touristy folk in a little-ish jar of clay. Den she would'st come home wit de money and she would say, "Fam'ly, we are to have a feast when I get enough money for our Gypsy ways!" Me Mama, she was a bold woman in that way.

But you see, sometimes der was not enough money to be had to buys de food of de market, an so we had to make soup from whatever we coot find. I remembers the bestest soup we made to eat was made of our shoelaces all combined. We called it Soupa Italia because me Papa had said zat de Italians ated their soup wit lots of shoestring noodles, an you know, I felt very proud that us Gypsy family could'st have the same soup as the Italians, especially when we were living up high in homeland Bulgaria. But you see, sometimes der was nothing like shoelace or de bark off trays to be ated, so we had to go and eat some of our Gypsy horses in a soup. It was not bad soup, but you see, me Papa solded ze horses each summer in homeland Bulgaria to the same reech touristy folk dat gaved zer moneys to me Mama for her fiddle playing, an so eating ze horses for winter foods meant me Papa had less horses to sell. But even doe winter could be harshest, we still made it troo and troo an it was good life, being a little Gypsy girl.

I lived as such until the Dee-See Effess came over from de Emericas and she saids dat childrens should have better life than in Gypsy camps, an so tis Dee-See Effess took me from me Mama an me Papa an all meh Gypsy fam'ly an de horses. Zen dey gave me to a goot Emerican fam'ly an I learned to be a goot Emerican Gypsy child, I did, even zoe der was no Gypsy ways to be had an no horses or Soup Italia.

**Authoress' Note: This began as the invention of a rainy day, as many of my stories do, and I finally got around to writing it down when free time chanced by. Enjoy, because things are about to get strangely funny.**


	2. Ikea and a Coffee Mug

Gypsy Rose: Part II

I grew well in de Emericas, because you see, there was much cereal an de oatmeal to be ated along wit the greatest of all Emerican inventions: maple syrup. Meh new parents an brozers would'st give me de maple syrup whenever dey gave me a medicine, because a medicine tasted very nasty in its way an de only way to take of it was to dip it into de maple syrup an swallow it as quickly as a honey swallows bees, do you know what I'm saying?

Anyways, so in de Emericas, after I finished in de turd grade, I went off an married a goot Emerican man since I did not need to know much else past turd grade. An so I married deez Emerican man to have even better life, but you see, he was lazy lazy man an I had to work just as hard as me Mama had back in homeland Bulgaria. I first landed a job at a place called Ikea, because in ze language of homeland Bulgaria, "Ikea" means "wealthy lady", an so it seemed best dat I goes an get a job at the Wealthy Lady, an so I did. It was a goot job, an I met many goot Emerican peoples zer, but den you see, I was flamed out because me boss said dat I could not be understanded well by ze customers, an so I did not return to ze Wealthy Lady Ikea place.

Instead, I took up traditional Gypsy job of fiddle playing on de street corner of my new hometown. I would get ups at five-fifteen to cook ze braking fast for me an me husband, an den I would go as me Mama had an play ze fiddle from six in de morning to nine at night. I would put my- how do you say it called?- coffee mug, yes, coffee mug onto ze corner floor an play the goot tweedle deedle an oompa oompa for the coins of de passerby. Den I would'st go home to me husband wit ze day's earnings.

Now you see, me husband, he is very Emerican because he is very lazy, as I have said before dis time, an so I would go home to find no dinner or cleaness. So I would say, "Habibi, where is the dinner which I have worked to make money for?" an he says, "I am man, and man was not given skills by Almighty to make dinner, so it is up to a woman" an I says to my beloved, me habibi, "Why do you do zees to me?" an he says in reply, "Why do you do zees to me?" an we fights an fights about it. But den, but den we make up because we gets tired from it all, an so I make dumplings like me Mama and me Grandmama used to back in homeland Bulgaria for dinner, and zen we have Emerican kiss, an it starts over the same ze next day and it has been dat way for almost forty-four years.

**Authoress' Note: "Habibi" is not Bulgarian, but actually Arabic for "Beloved". You will most likely discover this to be a popular title for many belly dance tunes, if you go and look. I thought it fitting to used the word since gypsies and belly dancers are often closely linked in their dance styles and mysteriousness.**


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